Life as Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen mused, was a balancing act played out on a tightrope that frayed more with each passing year. Sacrifices were part of the game, the price one paid for peace. But sacrifices were meant to be discreet, unspoken. Appearances had to be maintained.

Before the Daimyō, Hiruzen was a man of humble gestures—submissive, deferential, an obedient servant. He would bend at the waist and beg with sincerity, for gold was needed to sharpen the Leaf’s teeth and to eat. To the council, however, he was stern, unyielding, embodying the rigid force of leadership that ensured their military dominance. And to the clan heads, he wore yet another face—one that radiated leniency, compromise, and justice, carefully tempered to suit each occasion.

Yet, to the world beyond Konoha’s gates—whether ally or enemy—Hiruzen was one thing only: insurmountable, indisputable. A force to be reckoned with. At least, that was the image he cultivated. The truth was something altogether different.

His reign, if one could call it that, had not been easy since his reinstatement. Stability was a fragile thing, and pleasantness had never factored into the equation. If he was honest with himself, he longed for the day his duties would end, and he could finally retreat back into the oblivion of retirement. That desire gnawed at him particularly now, as he felt the unmistakable presence of Uchiha Fugaku approaching, his chakra like a storm, a rolling wave of malice that announced his anger before he even set foot in the office.

“Explain,” came the low growl, accompanied by the violent swing of the door as Fugaku stormed into the room. Hiruzen’s bodyguards flickered into view, tension crackling in the air as they appeared to block the Uchiha’s advance. Futile, of course, but loyal to a fault.

“I understand your frustration, Uchiha-san,” Hiruzen said, raising a hand to halt any immediate violence. His voice was calm, controlled, the voice of a man who had diffused far too many ticking bombs in his time. “But there is a method to all of this, you know that. We must remain composed. There’s more at stake here than one bruised genin.”

For a moment, it seemed the air would snap, the tension unbearable, but then Fugaku paused. The cold fire in his eyes dimmed, if only slightly. He crossed his arms, fists clenched, but he nodded once—a gesture, if nothing else, to indicate that he would listen.

“Please,” Fugaku said, his voice barely masking the anger beneath a veneer of civility. “Explain what happened to my clan’s heir, Hokage-sama.”

Relief washed over Hiruzen, though he dared not show it. He leaned back, tired, massaging his temples. “It was a training mishap,” he began. “Yuna Inuzuka, the Jonin in question, will face an inquiry once she’s cleared by the medics.”

Fugaku scoffed, a quiet, dismissive sound. “A mishap?”

“Yes,” Hiruzen continued, his tone even. “According to Itachi’s report, and those of the few witnesses, your son surprised his instructor during an evaluation. Startled, she overreacted. What followed was… unfortunate. A fight ensued, one that only ended when Yuna was able to convince Itachi that it was not an assassination attempt. They came to an agreement and she allowed him to subdue her with a Genjutsu, so he might leave to tend to his injuries without concerns of further violence.”

For a brief moment, Hiruzen expected an argument, but to his surprise, Fugaku merely sighed, a tired, resigned sound.

“I would have preferred a more thorough investigation,” Hiruzen said, choosing his words carefully. “But the Genjutsu your son employed… it has proven difficult to break. We’ve yet to fully extract Yuna’s testimony. When she wakes, I think it would be best for you to sit on the inquiry panel.”

Fugaku nodded slowly. “Yes. That would be best.” He turned on his heel, ready to leave, and Hiruzen felt the tension in the room finally dissipate. But Fugaku stopped just short of the door.

“I’m going to the hospital to check on her,” Fugaku said.

Hiruzen frowned. “Yuna? Why?”

Fugaku turned. “You’ve been unable to wake the Jonin, correct?”

“Yes.”

“I suspect I know what technique Itachi used. She would not be waking up without his assistance.” Fugaku’s voice was calm, too calm. “And I have to be there to make sure he does the needful.”

----------------------------------------

The smell hit her first. Disinfectant and blood, thick in the air. It was the hospital, of course. She didn’t need the heightened sense of her clan to know that. The place was unmistakable. Too clean. Too sterile. Too full of memories she’d rather bury. The stretch came with the pop of stiff bones, and she sat up despite the distant murmur of protests from the medic-nin beside her, his voice lost somewhere beyond her ringing ears. She turned her head, smacked her ear with the flat of her palm until the pressure released with a pop.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Inuzuka-san, can you hear me?"

Yuna recoiled slightly at the voice now booming at her side. “Sages,” she muttered. “You don’t have to shout. I hear you.”

Relief flooded the medic's face, like a man saved from drowning. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore… What happened? Why am I so sore?”

“You’ve been unconscious for some time,” the medic said, voice still tight with nerves.

“How long?”

“Three days.”

She blinked, not quite comprehending. Three days? The rest of the hours passed in a fog, medics prodding at her with cold hands and detached stares. When they finally released her, it was to the goons from the intelligence division.

“What was the nature of the illusions you were subjected to?” one faceless operative asked.

Yuna looked at him, the dead air of the room settling heavy between them. “Subtle,” she said at last. “Refined. Had it not been for his inexperience with scent—how it mingles with the world around you—I might not have noticed at all.”

“Why didn’t you break out earlier if you were aware?”

“I couldn’t.” She picked absently at the bandages on her palm. “At first, I could. When I was still alert, still guarding. But once I lowered my defenses to show him I wasn’t trying to kill him, it was like facing a different enemy. I broke it—again and again. But every time I thought I was free, I’d realize I wasn’t. Like pulling at threads that never really unraveled.”

She stopped, eyes narrowing. "To be honest, I’m not even sure any of this is real."

The operative's head tilted, a spark of curiosity in his blank expression. “You’re not sure?”

Yuna shrugged. “The smells seem fine now. But how do I know he hasn’t gotten better at those too?” She looked straight at him, a slow creeping suspicion settling into her bones. “How do I know you haven’t gotten better at this?”

The man across from her held her gaze for a long while, unmoving. Something flickered across his features, a shift so slight it barely registered. Then, almost imperceptibly, a smile. His eyes, once dark and inscrutable, shifted, the Sharingan now clear, spinning lazily in his sockets.

“How?” Yuna breathed, more weary than afraid now.

The boy's smile widened by a fraction, and as it did, the world around them began to fade. The walls, the sterile air heavy with disinfectant and blood—gone. The floor beneath her feet dissolved, leaving her suspended in a void, lightless and vast. No bearings. No escape.

Yuna remained silent, feeling the chill of the void settle in her bones. The boy’s voice continued, conversational, pleasant even. “Did you know that the average civilian brain operates at a few hundred trillion teraflops? A Jonin’s? A few hundred quadrillion. With that kind of processing power, the brain can construct realities so meticulously detailed, they’re quite literally indistinguishable from the truth.”

She felt her stomach twist. “You mean—”

“Yes.” His tone held a trace of mockery now. “The processing power you would’ve used to escape this Genjutsu is reinforcing it. The stronger you fight, the deeper you sink. That’s the beauty of it. You broke free of my Genjutsu a long time ago, Yuna-sensei. What you're trapped in now is your own mind, twisting and tangling on itself. I’m not even really here. Just a fragment, a construct of my consciousness crafted through Yin-release, running its course in your subconscious.”

“I’ll remain here,” Itachi continued, unhurried, “analyzing, running simulations, collecting data, and generally keeping your mind occupied to do anything else but keep your body alive. Until my main body return, of course, to retrieve all the data amassed throughout the duration of my runtime and... remove the rest.”

She was silent for a moment, weighing it all, turning it over. “That’s... clever,” she said finally. “But you’ll have to let me go eventually. So why tell me all this?”

Itachi’s laughter echoed through the void. “I control the part of your brain that remembers,” he said. “So, Yuna-sensei, what do you think will happen?” His tone was as polite as ever, though the malice lay just beneath.

Yuna stared into the nothingness, feeling her heart rate slow as resignation took over.

“I see,” she said softly.

----------------------------------------

Fugaku stood over the woman’s still body, his eyes narrowed. The room was quiet, sterile, the low hum of distant machines barely registering. He turned to his son, voice hard as stone. “She told the truth,” he said. “Then why is she still like this, Itachi?”

Itachi didn’t look up at first, his eyes fixed on the woman. After a beat, he glanced at his father, meeting his gaze before looking away, suitably chastised. “I had to know how she broke free of my Genjutsu.”

Fugaku watched him, unblinking. “And?”

“It won’t happen again.”

The silence between them was heavy, the kind that lingers in the spaces where trust and doubt meet. Fugaku studied his son a moment longer before he gave a slow, deliberate nod. He wasn’t interested in the details—just the outcome. “They’ll question her soon. Do you want me to intervene in any manner?”

Itachi didn’t answer right away, his mind elsewhere, considering. “She’s competent,” he said after a moment. “I would prefer to be on her team”

Fugaku raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain?”

“I know her better than her clan does,” Itachi said, his voice quiet but firm. “I think I can manage.”

Fugaku watched him, the weight of judgment passing over his features, then turned without another word. The matter was done.